


Nothing lasts forever

by Minita



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Gendrya - Freeform, Jonsa babies - Freeform, Post Season 8, Sexual Relationships, Wounded Jon, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minita/pseuds/Minita
Summary: Sansa has been Queen in the North for ten years. She is a widow and has a son, seven years old. She sometimes gets news from the Wall or requests for supplies, but they’re short and formal, signed “Jon Snow, Lord Commander”. Sansa is certain she will never see him again.





	1. Arrow

Sansa.

She is tired of reading scrolls and taxing logs. She’s been sitting at her desk for hours and is already dark outside. She will skip supper and go straight to bed after kissing Robbie good night. She’s walking to his room when she looks down into the North gate and sees the guards turning someone away. Nothing interesting for her to see, they get beggars all the time, he should know better and go straight into the kitchen to get his bread, but the man looks familiar to her. She can’t quite place him.

-Tormund? 

She is surprised to hear the joy in her own voice. As she approaches the gate with a sprint she notices a sledge and two horses by him. She can’t help herself. She’s grinning widely when Tormund makes eye contact with her. The look in his eyes makes her stop.

-We lost track of him for days until Ghost brought us to him. He was frozen under the snow. Five arrows. We did the best we could but he doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I thought maybe your Maester could help him.

The man under the furs looks nothing like him. Gaunt and paler than the light snowflakes on his tangled hair. But it only gets worse when she lifts his face towards her. 

-Jon! 

Her voice cracks with shock and fear. There’s a pink knotted mass where his left eye used to be and under the filthy rag that fails to cover it there’s blackened skin and bloody crusts.

Without his wilding furs he looks small and scrawny like a child. Maester Finn and her work slowly and gently but her heart thunders with silent desperation. She sees the healed scars on his chest. Six, he said. That was about as much as he wanted to tell her. She didn’t ask more. Now he has new wounds on his leg, arm and hips. They are crusty with dirt but look close enough to healing. The eye doesn’t though. 

Once everything is been washed and the fire banked she sends the maids away and sits by his side. She holds his big hands. She wipes the sweat from his forehead and watches every inch of his face for hours on end. All those hours he doesn’t move. She has to stop herself from checking his pulse as she watches his nostrils flare and his chest rise rhythmically.

Her back hurts from the chair she slept in. Snowing stopped before dawn and now there is a bright sun high in the sky. Birds are chirping outside. Jon moans again and stirs. 

His cracked lips open in disbelief. His voice is exactly as she remembers.

-Sansa? What are you doing in Castle Black?  
-You are not in Castle Black. You are home. At Winterfell.

He slurps his soup gently and drinks watery ale like a man who has not drunk in years.

-Stop Jon, if you drink too much you will get sick.

He gives her his crooked grin and for a moment he looks like a young boy. She hadn’t realised how much she missed him.

-I thought the wildlings were your friends.  
-They are. These were Thenns. They must have confused me with a bear. 

She is surprised by her own loud laugh that echoes his until he flinches in pain. Jon’s hand shakes a little as he reaches for the left side of his face. She grabs his hand and keeps it in hers. He grins again and sounds sad when he says:

-I guess now I won’t look as pretty.  
-When were you pretty?  
-When I was beyond the Wall.  
-Beyond the Wall anyone with teeth is pretty.  
-True. 

They laugh again and Jon squeezes her hand. She sees the shorten fingers where he lost the tips. No infection, no bleeding, just clean cut by the freeze. He was lucky not to lose his ears or nose. The gods know how long he was there under the snow. She wants to sit here with him all day but she has work to do and he’s still weak. She goes to her desk and he sleeps for the rest of the day.

That evening after supper she enters his chambers with her hand on Robbie’s shoulders. Jon is sitting by the fire. The boy is very tall for his age and his wide blue eyes are bright with excitement.

-Jon, this is my son Robbie. 

He smiles and gets up his chair. Robbie bows gently and says with his clear child voice:

-Your Grace.  
-I’m not a king my lord Prince.  
\- But mother says you are Aegon Targaryen.  
-I’m just Jon Snow my Prince.

His eyes widen even more and he flicks his reddish hair from his eyes.

-Did you really?  
-My lord?  
-Flew a dragon? 

A small shadow seems to cross Jon’s face.

-I did.  
-And?  
-Robbie, that’s not a polite question to ask your uncle.

The disappointment in his eyes is brief as he almost whispers:

-Is it true you have Valyrian steel?  
-I’m afraid I lost it when they wounded me.  
-You didn’t. Tormund found it in the snow. It’s right there with your wildling furs, she says pointing to a chest on the corner.  
-May I see it?, Robbie says.  
-Not now. We should let your uncle rest, and is bedtime already.  
-Good night uncle Jon.  
-Good night my lord Prince.

She watches Jon stare into the fire that cracks again. It seems to her it was just yesterday they sat like this at Castle Black, her soaking cloak hanging by the fire and Jon’s cloak warming her. After a while she felt too burdened by the memories and she had let the conversation drop. That was a good thing since he barely talked. He still doesn’t. She wonders if he finds her changed, she must look older for sure.

Jon.

The embers crack loudly and the wine turns his stomach with its sweetness. Ten years drinking ale make you forget what wine tastes like. Ten years. He used to think he would never see her face again but here he is. The silence is heavy. He talks.

-He looks exactly like Robb. A Tully through and through.  
-Yes. She sips. But he’s stubborn like his father. 

He yelled at Ghost for nothing, and scolded his poor steward Harald about his dirty boots the day he got the raven announcing her wedding. He should have been happy for her, it’s not like she’s sworn to the Night’s Watch, and she’s so young still. She looks better than the day they met at Castle Black.

He should give her condolences. He tries to remember the man’s name. Wasn’t he a cousin of Lord Glover?, he thinks she chose him because he was not a lord so she could name the child Stark. She’s always been smart. 

-I was sorry to hear of your lord husband’s death. -She shrugs almost imperceptibly.  
-He had been sick for a while, I saw it coming. 

He watches her hair that shines like cooper, the line of her nose and her cheeks blushed by the cold. He wonders if she ever thought of him away at the Wall.

-Was he good to you?  
She nods.  
-Yes.  
-I’m glad. At least you have Robbie.  
-At least I have him


	2. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a mildly sexy chapter. Sansa does something naughty. She feels a bit guilty. Jon is still somewhat trapped in the past.

Jon.

The feeling of his linen trousers and shirt is odd after so long wearing pelts. The boots don’t quite fit. Theon had smaller feet. Although his were more than ten years old they must have looked like a treasure for the Thenns. They didn’t take Longclaw thought. Odd. Wildlings always appreciate good southern steel.

“Fear.” Sansa bites the apple again. “They must have thought your spirit will go into the sword and look for revenge.”  
“That’s absurd. They take swords from dead men all the time.”  
“Not this. Everyone knows what happened. The Battle for Winterfell. King’s Landing. You should hear the stories people tell about you. Even in the far North they must have heard. Haven’t you noticed the stable boys stare at you? And how the maids giggle when you walk into the kitchen?”

Fire, he remembers. The smell of charred flesh still wakes him up some really bad nights. Her lilac eyes staring at him, blood trickling from her nose. Queenslayer. Cursed. He heard the men whisper while they sailed him up North. Never with the wildlings though. Tormund tells everyone about the dragon ride and every time the tale is longer and the dragon bigger. He took him around, Tormund says, not once but twice, and he saw Winterfell from the sky. It always ends in laughs and toasts to King Crow the dragon rider.

“Jon? The water is delicious. Aren’t you hot at all?”

Her smile is brighter than the sunshine through the Weirdwood leaves. Her legs are so long. She splashes them with water and he can see goosebumps on her porcelain skin. 

“Robbie! Stay in the shallow part!,” she yells. The maid Sarra nods slightly to her.  
“Mom!,” Robbie complains.  
“In the shallows,” Sansa repeats.  
“Let him”, he says, “he wants to have fun. He’s just a child.”  
“Children drown. They fall from horses. They fall from towers. And he’s the only one I have,” Sansa’s tone is steel. Like when she talks to her bannermen. Then it softens again. “I wanted another one but Cregan was often away. Visiting Lords he said. Then...” her voice trails away, “then he got sick and he couldn’t.”

Sansa gets up and her skirts are so light he can see her thighs outlined against the sun.

“Come on!,” she yanks his arm, “the water is so fresh!.”

Her laughter is all he hears as the voices of children and servants fade away. He doesn’t remember the pond was ever this large and deep. Ice. All the ice the others brought is melting away. Sweat trickles from his eyebrows and stings his wound. The first days he got dizzy. He couldn’t read and the candlelight made him teary. These days he is better. So much so that he forgets about it. He is often surprised by the reflection the mirror gives him of this eye patched man.

He sits on the grass and watches as she dances in the water. The sun hits her hair and it catches fire.

“You must come. It will wash out the sweat,” she says as she swims away.

Splash. Splash. His beaten body practically sighs as the water swallows it. He closes his one eye and for a moment he’s ten again. Him and Theon racing each other in the water while Robb falls behind and everyone laughs. He loses track of time.

A cold hand cups his cheek. 

“Get out already, you’ll get all wrinkled like a dry grape,” she is holding a towel to her legs but her nipples stick out of her wet dress.   
“I can’t,” he’s breathless, “I didn’t want to soak my only trousers so...”

Splash. Sansa grabs his arms pulling him towards her. Her tongue is bitter and sweet at the same time. He floats towards her and snuggles against her neck, his naked skin against hers.  
Sansa closes her eyes and leans on his shoulder as she rubs his back. His body responds as if he were a younger man. 

He had forgotten. How a woman is warm and wet and lovely and not at all like his own cold hands. 

“Sansa,” he sings to her ear. A pretty name. 

Sansa.

Once she burnt her thumb badly. Every movement she made, buttoning up, opening a drawer, even holding the quill hurt her. She never noticed how much she used her thumb until it was painful to. 

She had successfully ignored the hole, the blank space where her heart is, until now. He was a good man. Kind. But he didn’t love her. This she knew. And she didn’t love him. But she needed a lord husband, someone to share the burden with, someone to give her children. So she did her duty. She looks at father’s statue with his grave Stark face. She can still see him looking down at the courtyard standing next to mother.

You are a Stark, mother used to say, things are expected from a lady like you. A lady. A lady wouldn’t open her legs for a man who is not her husband. A man she grew up with. She remembers a lonely boy, quiet and observing. Jon. He always wants to do the right thing, his duty, and what does he get in return?.

Aunt Lyanna. The she-wolf. She refused to do her duty, she followed her heart and all this horror fell on her family. She observes the candle in her stone hand. A Targaryen Prince. Fire and blood. What did she see in him?. “What do I see in him?,” she says aloud and the stone arches echo her voice. Him, him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Sansa to initiate the physical connection because well, I think she would like that. Also, she should have some guilt IMHO because she’s not a 21 century woman and it makes sense.


	3. Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a Stark death. Beware. Jon’s POV is hard to write but I hope his inner conflict comes across clear. Also, lots of sewing because that’s how Sansa says I love you

Jon

After that day he never had that dream again. The one with the dragon and the smoke and the smells. Sansa usually disappears behind her desk after breakfast and doesn’t come out until supper. Him and Robbie swim and hunt and shoot arrows at trees and squirrels. He teaches the boy how to find the hedgehogs sleeping under the roots of the trees. If the Maester says he learned his lessons for the day well, he’s rewarded with taking Longclaw with him. Jon straps it to his back because it’s too long for him to carry on his hip even though his legs are long like his mother’s. 

It’s a sweet life. Easy to get used to. “I could have had a boy,” he thinks, “with Ygritte. I should have stayed. Or take a washing girl in Wintertown, one that wouldn’t mind marrying a bastard. Dreams. Stupid dreams. Maybe if I ask Sansa to legitimate me?” He shakes the ridiculous thought from his head.

They usually have supper together like they used to before he left for Dragonstone. That was so long ago. After she tucks Robbie in bed Sansa comes back and sits across the table facing him.  
“You know what day is today?,” she asks.  
He racks his brain, “Tuesday”.  
“Hahahaha,” her laughter is music. “I swear Jon you lived with the wildlings for so long you no longer use a calendar like them.”

Live. He thinks. I still belong there.

“Today is your name day. Thirty three?” He nods and watches her open her chest, the one with the important scrolls she keeps locked. Gods be good, he gulps, “I told you Sansa, I don’t want a pardon. You should’ve respected my wishes.”

She stands there with her hand stretched out. He can see the seal of King Bran. A black raven over a line in the shape of Westeros. Her voice is a little sad, “it’s not a pardon.”

Stark.

I King Brandon Stark the First of my name hereby declare that the bearer of this document will no longer be named Snow. His surname is now and forever Stark for him and his true born children after him. This I declare of my own authority. Signed and approved by the ruling council of Westeros and King Brandon the First.

Father. 

He can still see his weather battered face on the King’s Road the day he left for the Wall the first time. “The next time I see you, I promise.” He always thought this would be the happiest day of his life but he can’t explain the dull pain that never leaves him, ever since he left King’s Landing. He can pretend it’s not there when he is north where nobody cares who his father was. He feels comfortable with these people. Violence is no stranger to them, or revenge, but the things people will do to sit on a throne, that they simply can’t comprehend.

It’s so late the candles are almost out. 

Sansa wipes a tear from her left cheek, “I know. I’ve always known you’ll come back to them.”  
“I need to be there,” he says. “I’m still sentenced. I can’t expect respect if I don’t follow through my word. I’m surprised no one has asked you what I’m doing here.”  
“They can ask. I will tell them the truth. That you would be dead if Tormund hadn’t brought you. Even prisoners need mending when they’re ill”

What if he stayed?, is this home? Or is the Wall? And if it brings war? Yara won’t be happy if he breaks the agreement, the gods know what Tyrion would do, and...the pond...was...they’re both lonely, it was just...he doesn’t want to embarrass her by bringing it up. He never thought he would ever have a chance to but now with his new title maybe he can serve the North better. Serve her. Sansa has done so much for him already, risked so much.

“Can you forgive me?,” he says softly. He gets no answer but she sits on his lap and caresses his face, his neck, she puts her hand under his shirt and touches him until he starts breathing rapidly, the thirst in his heart overruling the tiny voice in his head telling him to stop.

He doesn’t know how they made it to her bed. Sansa’s tongue is relentless. He swims in a sea of pleasure between her fingers and her thighs, kisses her in the soft hair under her arms and tangles his hands in the red mass of her hair. Sansa digs her nails in his back and pulls him by the hair thrusting her hips towards him and moaning softly.

When they’re done she grabs a dark curl and twists it between two fingers. “This hair was your salvation,” she sounds sleepy. He waits for her to talk again. “If you had been born with silver hair father wouldn’t have been able to convince anyone that you were his.”

Sansa leaves her desk when the sun is highest now. She sews. Shirts and trousers, capes, and even a doublet with a huge dire wolf embroidered in grey. She used to sit like this to sew with Lady Catelyn, he remembers. She has beautiful hands.

“None of that will be useful in the North. Too thin,” he says.  
“You saw the raven from the Citadel. Winter will soon be over, it’ll be warmer even in the real north.”  
“The free folk don’t appreciate embroidered doublets,” he says.  
Sansa tuts but says nothing.  
“I’ll ruin it if I have to help dig another latrine like three years ago.”  
“I’ll have the bushels of rye ready and good steel for them, Sansa says ignoring him. “You will be on your way as soon as Tormund arrives.”  
“ I don’t need a nanny. I can ride to Castle Black without help.”  
“You have one eye,” she says without lifting her gaze from her needles. “The gods help us if you fall in a ditch with such a heavy sledge. I will be at peace if Tormund rides with you.”

The second Tormund walks through the gates he hugs Sansa and lifts Robbie onto his shoulders while the boy giggles. “I’ve never ever played with a prince before,” he says. “Did your uncle tell you why they call me Giantsbane? So, I killed a giant once...”

As Winterfell becomes smaller in the distance his heart hurts but when the cold air fills his lungs he starts feeling better. They are no more than three days away from Winterfell when the rider catches up with them.

Tormund is asleep downstairs with the sledge. They’ll be leaving soon anyway. Sansa’s back is turned to him as she stares into the fire. He didn’t see her cry but he still has tears streaming down his cheeks. He is crushing the scroll in his right hand.

“Brandon,” he hears Lady Catelyn’s voice, “promise me, no more climbing.”

In his mind he was still just nine. A boy. A sweet boy he was. And smart. And brave. He was alone here when Robb left to go south. Alone when the Ironborn took the castle. The Wall. He went all the way up North. Jojen. Meera. Children all of them. Small like all the crannogmen. There was a wildling too, wasn’t it? The one that died defending Rickon.

His voice is coarse and full of rage when he finally talks, “we’ll avenge him Sansa. Whoever killed Bran will suffer the traitor’s fate. I promise.”


	4. Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is back in Westeros! Also, some danger is coming and the pack will get back together I promise!

Arya.

One bird is as big as a cat. Bright green and yellow with a weird looking beak. “Bread.” Screams. “Bread”. He has learnt the bawdy songs of the sailors that he sings with a high pitch voice. It screams the orders so clear and loud that new recruits confuse them with the real ones and they have to be talked out of opening the sails or dropping the anchor at the wrong time. 

“Girl!,” it screams, “no one!.”

The other cage is beautifully carved in a dark shinny wood she has never seen in Westeros. Five yellow and white birds sing in harmony for hours as soon as the sun is out. They sound as sweet and tuned as a singer with a lute. She hopes they survive the trip.

“Sansa will like them,” she tells to the window. 

It’s hard to remember exactly what Bran looked like the last time, it’s been so long and she has seen so much. Jon is vivid though. She remembers every hair, every stud on his armour. The colour of his eyes and how the wind moved his coat. She didn’t think she would return home so soon but the illusion of peace in Westeros is dissipating. She has to go home, they must protect each other from those who will harm them.

“Tyrion Lannister,” she says his name aloud.

Jon.

The wildlings scream and hoot and raise their arms. A flurry of snow wets his new boots as both sledges flash by. He curses under his breath. With the wide smile Sansa will remind him to wear he raises his voice as he gives her her prize, a brand new horse whip.

“Honour to the winner of the sledge race. Lady Glover!,” he says.

She nods politely and waits for him to sit down before sitting to his left. Lord Glover claps and drinks seated to his right. He volunteered to ride all the way to the Wall to represent the Queen in the feast to celebrate his lordship. The northerners are happy he is keeping the wildlings under control. Old fears die hard. The snow is light but he shivers in his grey wolf doublet. “A lord has to look the part”. He thinks of the needle in Sansa’s hands.

“Did you happen to know if he was sick my lord?,” Lord Glover’s voice brings him back.  
“No. He was perfectly healthy the last time he wrote to the Queen.”  
“Well, oddly convenient for the Imp. Something in his food or drink. I wouldn’t put it past him, sadly. Lannisters.”

He remembers his courtesies and turns to his left, “I had no idea you were such a skilled sledge rider.” “Thank you my lord. I did my best,” she says with a voice like a silver bell. Her hair is light brown with two thin braids coming from her forehead. Her lips are thick and her cheeks are pink because of the cold. “Do you also like...? Sewing?” She smiles and lowers her head, “I like archery.”

He feels himself blush. Stupid. Why blush? She’s a child. She can’t be more than fifteen. He contemplates her nose and the curve of her breast under her coat. “I also love music. I’m very good with the lute,” she says with confidence. “Wonderful. I would love to hear a song.”

But that night he is awaken by his steward Harald. The wildlings at the Shadow Tower sent a rider. He rode so hard he can hardly catch his breath, “Ships, Kraken.” Jon has a bitter taste in his mouth. The settlement at the Shadow Tower is recent and it’s mostly families. Lots of children. If Yara attacks it will be carnage and the hard work of years of rebuilding will go to waste. 

“At least one hundred ships Lord Glover,” he says gravely. “They were spotted by a fishing boat that gave the alarm. They’re probably heading for the gorge, there’s a fishing village by the Bridge of Skulls and the settlement at the Shadow Tower but they’re small. They can’t defend their position.” The old lord grunts, “We brought two. That and your ships makes what? Ten?.” They both stare at the map on the table. “Perhaps we should let them disembark,” Jon tries, “on land we can fight them. A few dozen Glovers and a thousand wildlings.”

He can’t believe his luck that all the tribes happen to be here at the feast. They are still calling him King Crow though. He hasn’t gotten used to it himself. Every ship is as big as a fortress. Black wood, black sails with golden krakens. His voice cuts the night, “Archers! To your posts! Lyarra Glover picks her bow and runs to the far end of the line. He watches until she disappears. 

Once the ships are close enough to shore, fire arrows start to rain on the Ironborn. 

Disembarking becomes nearly impossible and those who make it are stabbed by women and children hiding behind the rocks. But the Ironborn are too many and soon they are also shooting the beach defenders with arrows and crossbows. He plunges his sword wildly and hears nothing of the screams and grunts but he can tell his people are already overwhelmed. 

All of the sudden the smell of smoke is overpowering and the men are throwing themselves to the water covered in flames.

Ten, maybe a dozen ships are ablaze. They are rather small and their sails are not black. They lurch forward into the Iron fleet splitting the ships in two and sending men to the water in a frenzy. After what seems like just a few minutes the ships of the Iron fleet that are still untouched begin turning around slowly. The smoke is so thick some of them crash into each other and sink. He struggles to see and the smoke makes his eye teary but he thinks several Iron fleet ships are turning in retreat.

It ends abruptly. The beach is dead silent and hundreds of bodies come and go with the waves. He must be wounded and dying because his mind is already playing tricks on him. She looks so real standing there with her long Stark face. Needle is in her right hip.


	5. Bears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The iron fleet is a danger to The North. Queen Sansa discovers something huge.

Arya

Click, click. Clack, clack. She uses her thumbs to open and close a tiny wooden box resting in her lap. The dark wood shines and it has eight smooth faces that remind of the crystals of the septons. “How did Sansa find you? Do they get ravens at sea now?,” Jon asks.  
She stares at him, “she sent a raven to any port she could think of. They got me at Storm’s End just a few hours before I left again, saying she needed my help with the ironborn now raiding the seas.”

Gendry snorts slightly on the chair to her left. “How did you...?” He asks. “I didn’t. I wanted to visit the Wall before going home, but we couldn’t anchor at Eastwatch because of the ice, so we decided to follow the coast all the way around. We saw the Iron fleet as we approached the bay and I assumed she wasn’t bringing a peace embassy. Our ships were too small to make any damage, you know, built for trade and not for war, then I remembered the Dornish used to set carts on fire and launch them against the Targ... even the Iron born fear fire.” Jon nods, “You lost many ships.” “I can start again,” she yawns.

Arya leaves her seat to stand in front of him. She touches his forehead with her calloused hands and rests her fingers on the mass under his patch. She murmurs, “come with me, home.” Jon studies her face and remains silent. “Do you want Sansa to be alone?”  
“She’s not alone, Arya.” “Her husband is dead.” “I’m sure she’ll have no problem finding a new one. I know she was thinking of Lord Arryn. With the new threats to peace she could...”  
“She shouldn’t have to marry again for the North, the next time she marries it should be for love.”Jon closes his eye and tries a smile, “what now? You are not the kind of girl to believe in love stories, are you? Florian and Jonquil is it?.”

Arya seats again and gazes at a sleeping Gendry, the flames licking his arms and face. Yes, she thinks, now I’m a stupid girl like that. And I want to go home.“Who’s that box for?” Jon says.  
“It was for Bran.” They grow silent. When dawn comes they are still awake watching the fire die.

Sansa.

She kept turning in her bed all night, thinking about feeding armies and forging steel. A hole is in her stomach. Lord Royce will soon be here and her bannermen, Arya must be on her way from the Wall. “Really Mom?,” Robbie opens his eyes big. “I’m sure she will be delighted to see you. She hasn’t seen you since you were born. She held you in her arms first while the midwives tended to me,” that was the last time I saw her, she thinks, I haven’t seen my sister in eight years. Thank the gods she got to Jon in time to help them during Yara’s attack. She’s now calling herself Queen of the Iron Islands.

Robbie spoons more porridge and says, “is uncle Jon also coming home?”  
“No my sweet boy. He belongs in the North,” she says.  
“You should summon him. You are his Queen. And he’s your bannerman too. In times of war everyone must come together,” says Robbie with all the confidence of his eight years.

She stares at her plate. She can’t stomach anything this days. Are we?, she wonders. Already at war?. The thought makes her weary. “We are safe here. We have our people and Arya and your great uncle Glover are great warriors,” it’s about all we have, she thinks. Manderly died last year and left his grandson of thirteen as head of his house. Hornwood and Cerwyn also have young lords, totally inexperienced in battle. Umber gone. Karstark gone. Mormont. That little girl. She would have been a grown up woman by now. Married probably.

The heiress to Deepwood Motte is Lady Lyarra Glover, fifteen, she is thought to be a beauty. And very smart. I hope he likes her, she prays silently. We need to strengthen alliances within the north and quench any fears of Jon ever leaving for the south again. Easiest way to make them, marriage. He never made any oath, she made sure of that, Tyrion was so eager to get rid of the Unsullied that he did not care. 

“I shall go prepare your aunt Arya’s chamber. Maids are busy in the kitchen getting ready for everyone to come,” she leaves her seat.“ I will help you,” Robbie smiles. He empties the last drawer in her old chest and turns to her holding a linen bag with her initials embroidered on it, “what is this, Mom?”

It can’t be. She opens and closes the bag. One. Two. Jon left two moons ago. She had the chest removed from her chambers while she found the time to empty it. She never sent Sarra to get her moon blood rags. She sits stunned for a moment. That evening she gets no paperwork done. She sits and unpacks Robbie’s baby clothes and sets apart what needs mending. Sarra and Milly the blacksmith’s daughter giggle and exchange looks but say nothing. While unwrapping and folding they begin to sing, there’s one song about Symeon Star-eyes and one about spring.

Within a fortnight everyone is here. The Great Hall is seldom this full, the last time was her own wedding, she seems to recall, Royce begins, “my lords, the Ironborn cannot be allowed to raid our ports unmolested. If we write to King Tyrion he will surely...” “Tyrion? Do you think a Lannister will defend us?,” bellows Glover, “he has lost control at King’s Landing already. They riot in the streets for bread and the people at Flea Bottom are falling like flies for there is no clean water.” Lord Royce sits slowly as men bang the tables with their glasses to show their agreement.

“My lords,” the room grows silent as she looks around the Hall. “My father always said we must try to make peace with our enemies. We shall send an emissary to Bear Island. See what conditions they offer and convince her to lift the siege.” Murmurs of disapproval follow. “With respect your Grace, your cousin Lord Stark with his wildlings and Lady Arya made them run away. And we had just a few ships!” More banging. “I say, we should sail to them and give them a taste of northern force,” brags Glover. The men scream in approval.

Arya gets up and the screaming dies down. “Lord Glover speaks true. Westwatch was a victory for us because they were not expecting us. However, their fleet is still more powerful than ours. Ships are expensive and they take time to build. It will be madness to engage them in the sea.”  
“So, we surrender?,” asks young Lord Hornwood, “we bowed to dragons once. And look how they treated us. We will never again bow to anyone!.” “No one is bowing Lord Hornwood,” Sansa’s voice carries clearly above their heads, “we will work out a compromise that satisfies both parts. The Ironborn need to use our ports and so do we. We do not need permission of the south to defend our land, they’ll have to deal with Yara on their own.”

After voting, the embassy consists of Lord Royce, Lady Arya, Lord Glover and Lord Jon Stark. She sends Arya and Gendry back to Castle Black immediately. It’s a long ride but she can’t send a raven if she wants to keep it secret, you never know, Tyrion may or may not have little birds.

The frown hasn’t left Lord Royce’s face since she told him. “I had already written to you when I found out. It was never my intention to deceive you in any way,” she pauses. “My beloved cousin Lord Arryn will have no trouble finding a new betrothed. Someone closer to him in age.”

He remains quiet for a moment, “with respect your Grace, your people will disapprove of such business. You are the Queen. You ought to set example to all unmarried ladies in your kingdom.” Should she tell him?. “I have always trusted you Lord Royce, you have proven over and over to be a true friend of the North. You should know I have and will continue to give my kingdom everything they ask of me. I have a true born son already, the Prince of Winterfell. This child is not for them, it’s for me. To tell his father’s name is not a duty I have to my kingdom.”

“Indeed your Grace, the last thing you need is a jealous wife at your door,” he stares into the fire. “I beg you pardon, my lord?,” she’s startled. Lord Royce takes a deep breath and says, “there isn’t any man in the north that would refuse to marry you. He must be married already or we would be walking to the Godswood right now.”

Jon. If this ever becomes public knowledge it could be considered a provocation by some. Westeros is volatile enough as it is now and she has to protect him. Her face is a mask when she says, “I will not be questioned as if I were a maiden escaping her father’s discipline. What happens in the intimacy of my chambers is of no consequence to my people.”

Jon.

With Arya and Gendry they head straight for the coast. They cross to Bear Island in one of Arya’s swift ships and arrive just a few days after Lord Glover and Lord Royce. Kraken banners fly in the wind outside the castle. The have laid siege for at least three months now. Bear Island men will never surrender, he thinks. After Lady Mormont died, the officers formed a council to govern but as long as they remain headless the island is for anyone to take. 

They sit in that tent for hours. They argue and bargain. Lord Glover can barely hide his contempt for her, but he has to admit she’s formidable, lronborn indeed. What is it with queens?, he wonders and then has to force himself to stop daydreaming. Lord Royce says,   
“Again, Queen Sansa’s only desire is to reach an understanding. You will stop raiding northern ports and...” “Sansa is not my Queen.” Jon jumps in, “neither is Tyrion your King.” Yara stares at him. “The Iron Islands are independent, so is the North. That makes us equals. No need to bring southerners into our matters.” Yara remains quiet. He insists, “you decided to declare your independence, the Lannister will not support you when you are in distress. We will.” “You have been a lord for four days. You can’t tell me what to do.”

Arya raises from her chair, “if it wasn’t for my brother you’ll all be blue eyed corpses. Or a pile of ashes. Do you think Daenerys would have spared you if...?” “Those are big words considering he is a fucking Targaryen too,” Yara interrupts her. “Enough!” Jon can feel anger rise in him, the memory of dead wildling children at Westwatch still fresh in his mind, “Yara, I didn’t ride all the way from Castle Black to make friends with you. Say what you want already. Is it our ports?” She remains silent. He takes a deep breath, “the Queen in the North is willing to give you free use of our ports provided you go in peace, no stealing, just regular trade. In exchange, you will withdraw from Bear Island at once and stop raiding ports in the Stormlands or the North, including wildling villages. The Queen is also prepared to offer you protection from any attacks you may suffer in the future and she will generously lend you grain when needed at reasonable interest.”

Yara’s eyes betray her thoughts at the mention of grain. Everyone in Westeros knows Sansa Stark has performed a miracle with the North’s supplies. Winter is almost over and she still has excess grain in warehouses all over the North. She scattered the warehouses everywhere so the food can’t be burnt in a single attack. In the past ten years the South has suffered famine several times. The North? Not even once. She doesn’t move for what seems like a long time. Then she nods at him, “what happened?.” He swallows, “an arrow.” Yara smiles, “does it bother you during a fight? My uncle said his did.” “Yes, it does.” “You could pass for an Ironborn now. Except for that huge dire wolf on your chest of course.”

Lady Lyarra walks ahead of him looking at the fallen roofs and corpses still scattered everywhere. The smell is unbearable. No horses, they must have eaten them all during the siege. “Lord Stark, we should have the men burn the bodies before disease spreads, don’t you think?” It takes him a moment to realise she’s talking to him. “Yes my lady. Go ahead. He hears her yell at the men with her pretty singing voice and can’t help to smile a little. 

That night they dine on Sansa’s supplies. Everyone is merry and with a full stomach for the first time in months. Lyarra dances with every single man in Bear Island and even with old Lord Royce. Arya and Gendry spin in the centre of the Hall. Black bears painted on wooden shields adorn the otherwise plain walls. Lady Lyanna would have liked this.  
“Do you find her too young, my lord?” Lord Glover’s voice is muffled by the sound of the music.  
“No.”  
“She’s been raised to rule. She was born after my poor brother and my son were killed fighting for King Robb. We knew she would be the one to inherit. And she’s not easily frightened, she doesn’t mind the eye.”

What about the huge scars on his chest?, he thinks, or the stumps of his fingers?or...Queenslayer?.“House Glover would be pleased to renew his alliance with House Stark, she’s my only niece and I know a Stark husband will treat her honourably.” Jon stirs in his seat and says bluntly, “your cousin’s son is Prince of Winterfell, another marriage to a Stark will make you the most powerful house in the North.”

Lord Glover says nothing for a while but when the feast is almost over he bends over his plate and looks straight into his eye. “She’s dead. She’s not coming back to haunt you. She would have burnt us all if it wasn’t for you. Brandon and Arya, our Queen too. Even your wildling friends. All of us. The Imp’s justice?. A joke. He shot his own father with a crossbow, strangled his hoe in her sleep. And he tricked you into killing her to save his ass. He should’ve gotten the chains and you the honours.”


	6. Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a time jump here. Lots of Arya. Bastard angst, my favourite kind of Jon Snow’s mood.

Sansa

Gendry bows his head low, “Your Grace.”“Welcome back Lord Gendry” Arya hugs her without words and disappears for the rest of the day. At supper time she finds Gendry alone in Arya’s chamber. “Wintertown,” he says with a shrug. After supper Sansa sips a dark red, a gift from Dorne, mixed with water. It helps settle her stomach but she doesn’t want to drink much with the baby.

“I trust you left your lands well?” She breaks the silence.  
“Yes, Your Grace, thank you,” he frowns, “ruling isn’t easy.”  
“No, is not.”  
“Orel Baratheon, my father’s uncle, had taken control of the Stormlands, he and I...he opposed me at first, but I think we have managed to reach an understanding”. Sansa observes him, his back straight in the chair and his stiff manners tell of someone that has been learning for years what castle raised people know from infancy. “It is a pity there was no planning or training. It made it harder on you.” Gendry nods and sips his wine, “I spoke to your brother.” He must have seen the surprise in her eyes because he quickly corrects, “I mean, Jon. Lord Stark.” “Ah!” She lowers her eyes to her lap. With her loose cloaks no one has noticed yet, but she had all her dresses altered already and soon she won’t fit in those either.

“Is he well?” She asks.“Yes, I...I thought he would come home with us? Now that he’s a Stark.” Sansa drinks. “Arya tried to convince him.” “I’m sure she did Gendry,” I must tell her, she thinks, and then she places two fingers on her own belly and the feeling makes her smile.

The next morning Arya knocks on her door and goes inside before she can answer. Sansa is sitting at her dresser doing her hair in a simple braid. She sees Arya in her mirror. Her little sister is short and is wearing trousers as usual but she can’t hide the shape of a woman grown. “You left Gendry alone last night. I had to keep him company.” Arya smiles, “I’m sure you were charming.” Sansa smiles back, “why don’t you just marry him?”. Arya moves towards her and puts her hands on her shoulders, “so now you want to marry everyone in the North?” “the Glovers are a powerful house, it will be a good match for all.” “Jon won’t do it.” “He told you so?” Arya touches Sansa’s head and says softly, “he loves someone else.”

Jon

He was at the Godswood before dawn. Sleep eludes him these days anyway, so he stood there, the faces carved in the trees looking at him disapprovingly. He knew he couldn’t take a wife, or leave the Wall, for ten years he told himself that he was satisfied with it, that it was a light punishment for what he had done. After seeing her again he can no longer lie to himself about his true desires, desires that brought him shame. Desires that seemed madness to him. A mad man. That’s what his grandfather was, wasn’t it?. The same blood is in his veins. Perhaps is for the best that it dies with him.

He’s walking back to Castle Black when the sledges arrive from Westwatch Bay. The locals call it Arya’s port and they’re only half joking. He thinks this will give them friends in the south for the time he’s not here to help them anymore, he should feel proud of those little victories, of the life he’s helping build for them. For almost a year now, the Ironborn have honoured their agreement, a ship from the Iron Islands comes every three months or so. They bring honey and wax, salt, iron pots and knives. The free folk pay them in furs, fish in big wooden crates filled with ice, and the occasional jar of seal fat. The southerners claim it can cure some diseases. The most appreciated goods however, is gossip.

As they walk into the castle with their cargo some of them whistle at him and a couple pat his back. Big Hoarg grabs him by the shoulders and shows him his toothless grin. “Congratulations!,” he yells. Jon looks at Tormund who shrugs and says in a low voice, “talk is the Wolf Queen has given birth to a healthy boy.” His mouth dries. “Yeah, they say a wolf visits her at night,” he pats him on the shoulder and as he walks away he says without turning, “a one eyed wolf!”.

He thought hunting would help but as he empties his quiver his mind spins harder. It cannot be. It’s just a tale. Maybe she married already. She wanted an alliance. Lord Arryn. Yes, that’s it. He’s an uncle. But she would have written to him for sure? Or Arya would?. He remembers every sound, every smell, the softness of her skin. But surely she’s too old for children?. Twenty nine. He reckons Lady Catelyn was thirty five when she had Rickon. He has to stop and breathe or he will fall to the ground. Surely the gods wouldn’t be so cruel. What has he done to anger them so?. But he knows the answer. He does. As he walks into the kitchen Tormund roars, “where the fuck have you been?” “I’ve got snow hare,” Jon says, “Look!,” he holds his catch up, “it means the ground is not frozen anymore...” Arya stands up and hugs him.

“She didn’t want me to come, but I insisted, so she made me promise I would leave you alone if you didn’t want to meet him,” Arya says as she grabs the other leg of the hare. Golden and crisp. If only he could eat. “He looks exactly like you,” Gendry offers sweetly. He feels tears forming. The damn arrow that got his eye somehow managed to leave his tear bag intact and he can feel the salt in his lips already. Without saying a word he gets up and locks himself in his room. A bastard child.


	7. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m loving Arya’s POV right now, I feel she’s so cheeky. This chapter is EXPLICIT. Mention of past abuse, nothing too gross. Beware

Sansa. 

She hears the castle gates open but she doesn’t move. The baby’s breath is steady and his tiny lips pout as if he were suckling. He must be dreaming. She grabs a closed fist and puts it to her mouth to kiss it lightly. The door opens with a low crack and he walks in. He has more meat on his bones than the last time she saw him and his long beard shines. She has heard they rub seal fat on it, it keeps the lice away and their skin from freezing. He still has his bag with his knife, pot and flint stone tied to his back. A wildling, she thinks. Will the castle people recognise him like this?. When he hugs her he smells like a tree. He kisses her rapidly on her nose, eyelids and cheeks. Sansa grabs his hair and pulls back to see his face. He’s so choked with emotion he can’t talk. He stands there without moving when she puts the baby in his arms. He touches his tiny head full of dark curls and sighs. 

The sun is down already when she manages to drag him to her chambers. He sees the chair but remains standing. She holds his face in her hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?,” he whispers, “I would have...”  
“I wanted it to stay a secret. Arya...she said it would harm him. The way it harmed you,” their foreheads touch.  
“We were wrong to do it. You’re my...”,   
“No, I’m not sorry. Not of what I’ve done. Not when we have him,” she raises her voice.  
“I’m not supposed to have children.”  
“Look at me,” she breaths in, “Bran offered a pardon. I knew you wouldn’t take it so he sent your naturalisation instead. A pardon is no use unless you forgive yourself. This is your home, you’re a Stark.”  
“Sansa please, I can’t.”  
The pain in his voice makes her blood boil. “How much longer must you paid?,” she practically screams, “it’s been twelve years!” “Is a life sentence,” he raises his voice too.  
“And for me! Must I pay too? And Arya? And my son? Must she harm us from the grave still?”

Jon falls to his knees and hugs her, burying his face in her belly. He starts sobbing. 

Jon.

Sansa holds him and they both end on the floor as his whole body shakes. He has thirty four years of tears inside. He cries for father, for Robb, Brandon and Rickon. For uncle Benjen. He cries for Pyp and Grenn, for Wun Wun and for Edd. Even for Olly, moving his legs wildly as he hangs. He cries for Lyanna Mormont and for the little nameless girl at King’s Landing, burnt with a toy horse in her hand. He cries for Ygritte and even for her, silver braids perfectly done flying in the wind as she holds to Drogon’s back. Raeghar was her brother. Did he look like her maybe?. And my poor mother?, he sees the faceless figure of his childhood dreams. A child herself. Alone in a tower. 

He doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes up in her bed. She moves and raises her head. Sansa. He still remembers the desperation in her voice, the fire in her eyes, pacing around his chamber at Castle Black. The darkness was still with him, clinging to his head, to his bones, to his hands, a very real presence, more real than Sansa. She pulled and pushed, she pleaded, she bargained. Ramsay. He had to be stopped. He somehow found his rage and dragged himself back to light. For her.

He rolls onto his left arm and places himself on top of her, he kisses her and when she opens her mouth, her lips are searing hot. At some point Sansa takes the patch off his face. His eyelashes are still intact and with his eyes closed he must look normal, he thinks. Sansa kisses the mass under his eyelid and whispers his name. 

Jon looks at her and stops.“Are you all right?” She looks confused. “Aren’t you still...rough?” “I’m fine,” she encourages him with a smile, then she lowers her hand and starts rubbing him, her touch seals his skin. He unlaces his breeches as fast as he can and Sansa grabs him with both hands. He blindly pats all over her with his right hand, squeezing, pinching, rubbing. Belly, breasts, back. About to loose his mind he flips her around and pulls up her nightgown but she stiffens. “What’s...the matter? Do you want me to stop?” After a moment hesitation she takes off her gown revealing dozens of thin scars drawn on the peachy skin of her back and buttocks, white on white.

He had never seen her back. “He never touched my face,” she says as an explanation, “is it...ugly?.” “No. Not at all,” he stands still for a moment, watching the orange light bathe her face. Tentatively he touches her hair, her cheeks, her shoulders. “Go on Jon,” her voice pulls him back to the room. “Tell me. Tell me what you want Sansa, what you like.” He kisses the back of her neck and a smell of roses floods him. “Do it,” she says, “I want you”. He grabs her by the waist and gently pulls her towards him, her buttocks so big that he feels himself grow larger. He kneels and as he enters her slowly Sansa begins to chant his name, “Jon, Jon”. They end up panting and moaning so loudly Arya and Gendry can hear them in their chamber across the hall. 

Arya.

“Your bed creaks.”

Sansa just shakes her head. Jon blushes as he seats to break his fast. “We must tell them Arya,” says Gendry. She chews some more. “Eddie is soon going to have a little cousin.” Sansa jumps and hugs her, “I’m so happy for you!” Gendry lowers his head and smiles shyly. Jon opens his mouth in disbelief, then he gets up and hugs Gendry and then her. He stands there for a moment and then hugs her again. 

Jon looks more nervous than Gendry as he walks her to the heart tree, a couple of days later. Maester Finn begins but she can’t hear a thing he says, she only wants to look at Gendry and hear his voice.   
“I, Gendry Baratheon take this woman.”  
“I, Arya Stark take this man.”

They have dinner in the Great Hall, their guests are just the castle people but Sansa set flowers on the tables and got good musicians. She dances but feels a bit dizzy and asks Gendry to sit for a moment. Couples dance in the centre, Jon is sitting at Sansa’s right and Robbie at her left. Baby Eddie is asleep upstairs. She hasn’t felt this happy in years. It’s almost frightening.

Everyone talks of the end of Winter but most days are still cold. As her belly grows big she spends less time in the courtyard training and more sitting by the fire. And eating. Jon and Gendry wake up Robbie and go hunting for quails every other day. She wants them badly. Sansa gets her a hot stone for her back and a stool for her feet and sits by her side sewing and embroidering dozens of tiny shirts and bonnets. “Surely he could use Robbie’s old clothes.”“No way Arya, he’s a Baratheon. We must embroider the stag not the wolf.” “Well, I think you have sewn enough for five babies. I’m not having a litter” Sansa says between laughs, “you have to change them often Arya, you really know nothing about babies, do you?.”

They usually break their fast together, and after that Sansa, Gendry and Jon discuss about plowing the fields, the cold sickness in Wintertown or things of the sort. “I already sent a raven to my uncle Orel with the good news and said Lady Baratheon and I will be staying indefinitely after the baby is born,” says Gendry, Sansa replies something she can’t hear. She feels tired these days and so distracted that she doesn’t even mind being called “lady Baratheon.” Or Gendry’s excessive concern for her every move. 

Jon is contemplating Sansa’s face and Arya notices his soft gaze and how every time her sister smiles he does too, his body on the chair angled towards her. Jon has told her in confidence he can’t marry Sansa because she would be in danger. Sansa has told her they must act discreetly to protect Jon. In the meantime, everyone with ears in the North already knows who is little Eddie’s mystery father. Everyone pretends they don’t. And Sansa is pregnant again. So much for discretion and secrecy.

Her pains started at midnight, it’s an very chilly morning when she comes screaming into the world. Her daughter is dark haired like her but has the clear blue eyes of her father. Sansa holds her and sings to her. She goes from Gendry to Jon to Robbie and to the maids. She has to yell and throw things so they’ll give her back to her. 

“Nymeria Baratheon sounds horrible,” Sansa touches her own growing belly as she says this.   
“No, it doesn’t.”  
“Arya, there are so many pretty names,” Jon interrupts, in a conciliatory tone.   
“Well, I like Shireen,” says Gendry. He is holding his daughter and walking around the room hoping to put her to sleep. 

No one talks for a while. They are all smiling.


	8. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mentions of blood, nothing too gross. Jon has to make up his mind once and for all. At the end it gets a bit explicit.

Jon.

Sansa moans and talks but she’s still asleep. He tries not to move so she won’t wake up. Her belly is huge now and she’s uncomfortable. The raven that came this morning didn’t help anybody’s mood. Lord Bronn was assassinated a few weeks ago in his castle at Highgarden, the official version is he choked while at dinner with some bone. No one believes it. Sansa the least of all. 

“Instability in the south is never a good thing for us,” she told him after supper.  
“I thought chaos was a ladder,” he said. She asked playfully, “who said that?”  
“Littlefinger.”  
“Well, he’s dead.” They laughed heartily.

Later that night he wakes up and the sheets are wet. “Sansa?” He shakes her gently, “Sansa wake up! Sansa!” She moans and opens her eyes slowly and when he rises the candle a scream dies in his throat. The sheets and Sansa’s gown are covered in blood. He stands outside of their chambers for hours. He can’t tell how many. Arya is inside with her and the midwives, Gendry takes a chair from his chamber and offers it to him “Jon, sit.” Sansa screams again. It’s more of a long wail. The voices of the other women are muffled by the closed door. I wasn’t here, he thinks, when Eddie was born. Sansa wails. Not that I’m very useful now anyway. More muffled sounds and a child’s cry shake him from his fear, he opens the door and lurches forward.

Winter is finally over. The long days of summer go by slowly. He sleeps at the foot of her bed in a folding cot, windows opened for cool air. Their boy is a big baby, and leaves his wet nurse dry in minutes. When he sleeps his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. His deep grey eyes and pointy chin remind him of someone else’s. “Uncle Benjen,” he tells her, and Sansa just nods. She is too weak to hold him long so they bring his crib and put it next to her bed. She watches him sleep and touches his chubby little hands singing quietly to him, and twisting his unruly curls in her fingers. At the beginning she couldn’t even swallow water, so Jon sat there day and night, dabbing ice chips in her lips, his heart frozen in panic. But she lived. Painfully, slowly, he got her to eat some soup and then some meat and cheese. All their conversations are about the children.

“Shireen smiled this morning to Gendry. Arya says is gas.”  
“She looks a lot like him.”  
“She does.”  
“Can you make sure Benny has his stockings on?. I don’t want him to catch a cold.” It’s not cold, he thinks, but he assures her, “sure, I will tell Nan Bea.”

The woman is at least sixty but is strong and good with the children. She came to Sansa saying she had worked in the kitchens as a child, under Lord Rickard, and that she knew Lady Lyanna and her brothers. Jon likes her but the way she stares at him makes him uncomfortable. “You look exactly like her my lord,” she told him once, “but I see the dragon’s blood in you as well.”

It’s several weeks before Sansa can leave the bed and take a few steps around her chamber on his arm. Her hair is messy and there are dark circles around her eyes but she’s alive and her hands feel warm in his.  
“I’m falling behind on paperwork. I need to answer scrolls.”  
He looks at her profile. “I won’t let you.”  
“It’s important, the North needs me.”  
“Let me help you then.”  
Her voice tingles when she says, “really? Do you mean that?”  
“Sansa, I...if I had anything else I could give you, I would. Let me serve you.”  
Sansa’s eyes are a sky made of steel, “I don’t want your service. I have enough servants.”

He places himself in front of her and holds her by the waist, “you know is impossible, we cannot do this, we can’t risk war! It’s not worth it!”  
Sansa looks as if he had slapped her, “it’s a bit late for doubts Jon, we have two children already”  
“Yes, bastard children, and no one in the south can prove they’re mine, but if we marry there will be uprisings and worse!” They’re both panting.  
“She broke you. She gave you fear. You used to be brave.”  
“Bravery? What has it got to do with this? This isn’t one of your bloody songs Sansa, where love conquers all! we need to be smarter to protect the North and our children!” He tries to steady his breath. She stares at him and whispers, “love?”

He floats in the sea of her eyes, tired of holding back, “aye, love,” he holds her and swings her gently in his arms like a sleeping child, hoping his heart speaks more clearly to her than any words he could say. Sansa places her head on his shoulder and says, “how long before you go then?” Jon thinks of little Eddy already saying “dadda” and Benny in his crib with his reddish curls and his long lashes. Fear hits him like waves on a beach but the pull in his heart is stronger. “I’m not going anywhere. Tyrion will have to drag me back to the Wall himself.” Sansa smirks, “he can bloody try.”

Sansa.

Wintertown is growing. She sees a few new wooden huts and they are building water tanks made of stone, it was Jon’s idea when Sam wrote about the possibility of a drought. “What do you think we should do, Jon?” she asked him one morning, “what if the drought gets to us as well?” Jon is chopping thin slices of an apple and feeding them to Eddie, Benny is asleep in her arms, full of milk, “it won’t, our rivers and creeks are full because of all the ice melting. We just need to use it wisely,” he says.

She’s feeling stronger these days and she wanted to visit town to oversee the works for as she told Jon, “the people need to see their Queen.” They dismount in the middle of a swarm of children, all giggling and wide eyed. Robbie walks by her side and Jon a few steps behind, shaking hands with the grown ups and asking questions. She thought of bringing Robbie to show him the needs of his people, he might be only eleven but one day he’ll be king. 

The people stare at the prince’s beautiful cape and boots but is Jon who truly attracts attention, men take off their caps, “Good day Lord Stark.” Jon stops to talk to a man without a leg, he’s probably a veteran from the Long Night, she’s amazed even now Jon seems to remember most of the soldiers’ names. She notices some youth pushing to get closer to him and whisper, “you don’t know who that is?” “aye, Lyanna’s son” “he came back from the dead” “blood magic” “the last dragon.” As they leave, a little boy waves at Jon and says, “goodbye, king.” Jon stops and touches the boy’s head, “I’m not king. What’s your name?” “Jon, like the king in the North”. As he mounts Sansa notices his ears are red. 

That night at bedtime Robbie smiles at her and says, “Mum, I liked going into town.” “Did you?” “Yes. Although they were very serious at the beginning” “The northerners are tough people and they have been through a lot. After all these years we’re still recovering from war.” Robbie nods, “Mum, is it true what they say about uncle Jon?, that he saved us?” “He did.” “But he killed her didn’t he?” Sansa observes his first born’s face, so full of innocence, “sometimes to do what is right is not easy, sometimes you lie to save a life. Sometimes a man will choose to dishonour himself to protect his own, do you understand?”. Robbie stares at her and nods, “I’ll be a good king Mum, like my uncles and you.” “I know love,” and kisses him good night.

Jon sits at the edge of their bed in his nightgown and barefoot like a child, “it’s late, come to bed.” “I’m almost finished,” she wets the quill in the ink. “What is it?” he asks, “I’m writing to Lady Tarly to congratulate her, and ask about her mother’s health.” Talla Tarly has officially being declared Lady of Horn Hill and being restored all her late father’s land and rents since Sam renounced in her favour. Tyrion is surely trying to regain the good will of the lords of Highgarden. It’s probably too late already. She finishes and puts the parchment aside, she will send some men with the message and a gift for her in the morning. When she gets into bed Jon is asleep already, the blankets a neat bundle by his feet, no fire. She has never seen him get cold. After so many years in the real north is to be expected. She lays on her side and holds his hand. After a few minutes he starts rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand, Sansa watches him breath, his chest going up and down, “I’m cold,” she sounds like a little girl. Without letting her hand go Jon grabs a light blanket and covers her all the way to her chin, then lays on his side as well and looks at her. Then he kisses her on the lips, mouth closed. Sansa moves to him and rubs herself against his body, he hugs her and kisses her some more.

When he smiles to her like that she feels like a silly girl again, like if scrolls and lords and water tanks mattered not, and kissing him is all that she ever has to do. Sweet poison. She notices he’s touching himself and when she lifts her gown to her waist, Jon grabs her small clothes and pulls them off. She feels herself getting wet. She kisses his neck and Jon puts two fingers inside her. He rubs and rubs and she begins panting, murmuring words that don’t exist into his ear. He goes inside her and his scent fills her nose, his beard scratches her cheeks. This room doesn’t exist, the North doesn’t exist, only this, only them.


	9. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa have a third baby. She comes with a surprise that complicates everything. A bit of political stuff. It’s fluff really. I’m not good at writing politics.

Jon.

He watches her put on her night gown. Her belly looks saggy like an empty bag and her breasts are covered with tiny blue veins visible under her fair skin. The area around her nipples is dark brown and seems bigger than before. He had heard women’s bodies changed with babies but he had of course never seen it happen. They hear a baby cry and another one squeal and it’s hard to tell which one is which. Little Kathy and little Bran are only a few days apart. 

“I’m so sad they’re leaving already,” she says as she bites another lemon cake.  
“Sansa, they have been here for almost four years, Gendry is needed in his lands.”  
“His uncles will be happy to finally have an heir, they were so worried he refused to marry all these years.” A girl and a boy, he thinks, my little sister, a mother. Shireen is stubborn already and Bran is fuzzy, and they’re both probably going to be tall and strong like their father. They grow so fast. As mine. Three children. I have three bastards now.

He is officially still exiled but in the years since he came back he has been to the Wall only once and briefly. Sansa recovered very slowly after Benny and he found himself visiting lords, settling disputes, and double checking the entry books. He sits at her throne most evenings and listens to complaints or sees visitors. A few days ago he even had a delegation from Dorne. They’re offering one of their princesses to marry Prince Robbie. Robb. He’s growing and doesn’t want to be called Robbie any more.

“Your Gra...Lord Stark,” begins the Dornish man, “it’s an honour to finally meet you. Princess Arianne has sent you a dozen caskets of wine from your birth place.” Sam wrote that some prophets in Dorne have seen Rhaegar in dreams. Two Septons at King’s Landing were apparently imprisoned for saying Tyrion was an usurper and the “white wolf” was marching south to take him down. Prophecies always abound when people dislike their rulers. He hopes Tyrion is wise enough to ignore them.

“Thank you Lord Quant, did you have a pleasant journey?”  
“The seas are safe now that the Ironborn and Dorne have a treaty in place.”  
Jon remembers to smile a little, “I’m glad.”  
“Indeed, we figured if the North could do it...”

He observes Lord Quant’s wife and servants. They’re tall and have beautiful tanned skin, their eyes are as bright as their smiles. Everyone wants a marriage with the North these days, Lord Hornwood married a rich merchant’s daughter from Highgarden. Sansa of course helped arrange it, together with the Lady of Hornhill, Talla Tarly. She was very grateful to Sansa because she sent Hearstbane back, Sam had left it behind when he went to King’s Landing. Sansa, Gilly and Talla write each other often it seems to him. The Northernmen agreed to give Bear Island to the newlyweds to ensure it remains in northern hands. “Supper has been prepared in your rooms. The Queen thought you will be tired of the trip, you can meet the prince later,” the man’s smile dazzles him, “we will be delighted to meet the princess as well?” More smiles. His heart leaps. 

When Kathy was born he was so relieved Sansa had survived that he paid no attention to her hair. The light grey of her newborn hair started to change quickly. Kathy is now a year old and her hair is so silver that looks almost white. Her eyes are grey but everyone whispers they have an indigo sparkle. He cannot see it at all. “I don’t think you should worry about it,” Sansa tries reassuringly, “babies change a lot. Maybe her hair will get darker as she grows,” she says.  
“Or maybe not,” Arya says, “he was her grandfather after all...”

He wishes to forget. He’s a Stark. He looks at the mirror. Long face and dark hair. Just like father, and he’s convinced. Until Kathy holds her arms toward him and her silver curls bounce. 

Sansa. 

Eddie is almost five and Benny is three. They fight all the time. And they make up immediately. They lay on the rug at her feet and play with little pieces of wood and sticks. Kathy is sucking her thumb in her lap. The birth of Benny was difficult and for a while she thought she will not be able to have more but then Kathy came. Her pregnancy was sweet and the birth the easiest she’d had. So is the child. She sleeps well and eats everything, she seldom cries. When she’s not in her crib she’s in someone’s arms. The maids fight each other for the chance to hold her. Even the lords when they gather in the Great Hall want to see her and touch her head.

Jon suggested her name, “Catelyn, for your lady mother.” She looked at him with tenderness. He’s so easy to forgive others. Much harder on himself. But she doesn’t look like a Tully. Or a Stark. Rumour is rampant in all Westeros, of course no one believed she had children by a wolf that visited her at night but Kathy’s hair makes it impossible to pretend anymore.  
“The white wolf,” people say in inns and taverns, “all the children have silver hair.”  
“He came back from beyond the Wall with dragon eggs and will burn his enemies.”  
“He lost an eye but it grew again.”  
“He sees through a wolf’s eye now.”  
“Queenslayer, he’s been cursed, he cannot be killed.” Jon’s voice interrupts her thoughts.

“I’m back. Lord Hornwood executed the men.”  
“How many this time?”  
“Three. The boy was sent to the Wall.”  
Poachers. In the old days even the child would have died but she forbade executions for children under fifteen years. Little by little, she thinks. Change takes time. Jon rolls on the floor with the boys, Eddie wants to hold Longclaw as always and Benny wants to show up his stick building. Then he kisses Sansa on the forehead and touches Kathy’s nose with one finger, making her giggle. It’s nice to sit with her windows open and sew while the children play. She’s becoming lazy, she thinks. Jon does most of the hard work these days. The northern lords fear him. They also love him. He was born for ruling, he was wasted in the far north.

“I need a bath,” he gets up, trips with some toys and mumbles something.  
“What?”  
“It’s hot in here!.”  
“It’s fine,” she’s used to this weather from her days in the south, “my poor wildling husband,” she giggles, “he melts in the south.”  
Jon grunts, “I’m not your husband.”

He takes a long bath and shaves real short hoping to sweat less. It was never spoken between them, like so many other things. They have children together, he rules on her behalf and everyone pretends he’s only staying for a while, until he returns to the Wall. But if he marries her...it may be too risky. Some will be supportive, Dorne and the Vale, the Stormlands for sure, but others won’t. Others will fear. The Lannisters are not as powerful as they used to be but Tyrion is still king. His uncle Gerard has refunded his army and they repressed the revolts at Highgarden with extreme violence. Breaking the wheel all right.

Some of the lords haven’t forgiven him for bending the knee but the small folk cares little for politics. She has heard of newborn babies named Arya, Sansa, Brandon, Lyanna and Jon. He’s a warrior, a hero, beloved like his father, the people would turn to him. They did it for Robert and he wasn’t a grandson of a king, a son of a prince, but still... last time a Stark married a Targaryen war broke out.  
“Did you put them to bed already?”  
“Yeah. You know how they act when they’re sleepy.” He doesn’t wear the patch when they’re alone anymore. She likes it better that way.  
“You smell good.”  
“Thank you. You too.”  
“Any news of Arya?”  
“You know she hates writing. I imagine she must be very busy running a household and with the babies.”  
“She’s going to hate it. She will be sailing again in no time,” Jon kneels and puts his arms around her. She kisses his face and bites his lips gently. Jon strikes her hair slowly, but does nothing else.  
“Jon.”  
“No. I told you. I don’t want to get you pregnant again. You could die.”  
“I won’t.”  
“Please, Sansa.” 

He’s so stubborn. She wants to hate him but she can’t. She snuggles to him under the furs and touches his arm, feeling the hard muscles under the fabric. His long curls need trimming and they tickle her nose. My half-brother she used to call him. If father could see us now, she giggles. “What is it?” His voice is distant with sleep. “Nothing.” One true born child and three Snows. If mother could see her now. He has always been an early bird and when she wakes up the next morning she grabs his pillow and breathes in his scent. She’s the luckiest woman in the world.


	10. Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell receives an unwanted visitor. If Sansa has to go to war for her man, she will. Mentions of past events, dead characters of the past, the burning of King’s Landing and such.

Sansa.

The last time she saw him he was in a smelly cell in KL. Ashes still covered everything and the smell of charred flesh was horrid. He looked at her intensely with his mismatched eyes. “What do you say?” She tried not to show anything on her face.“We can convince Grey Worm to leave and we will treat with Yara, everyone wants peace. You bring the north. I bring the south. We will be powerful together.” She smiled.

She went to Arya first. She had cried. She looked like father when she was serious like this.  
“Don’t do it Sansa. Jon will never forgive himself.”  
“He’s only twenty three!. He’ll be in prison for the rest of his life!”  
“It’s hardly a prison. He will be among friends and he can go hunting and fishing.”  
“But it won’t be home!”  
“What did Bran say?”  
“He says if he’s freed they’ll kill him. He said “cut throat.” She had Sam write to the Citadel. The parchment with the annulment arrived shortly after the pit meeting, Tyrion just looked at it and nodded.

The raven came this morning. She should have known it wouldn’t last. She had been living in a song and now the truth hit her on the face. When she showed the scroll to Jon he twisted his mouth, “Tyrion is king, my presence here will be a challenge to him, and Yara won’t take it lightly. We don’t want anyone to think we are conspiring in any way or that we want revenge for Brandon, besides, he knows about the children, doesn’t he? The right thing for me to do is to go back to the Wall until he has left and you know it.” “You told me you would stay. You didn’t swear an oath to Grey Worm or anyone else and Tyrion has no authority over us. I suppose you prefer to break your promises to me, then” They break their fast in silence. For the next weeks as she gets ready for their visitor, Jon is quieter than Ghost but she feels grateful for it, she’s tired of arguing.

Tyrion.

The last time he was was here he came with Daenerys, Varys, dragons, and two huge armies. This time is just three carts and fifty guards. The south still struggles to recover from the destruction and he must set example of frugality. The courtyard is exactly as he remembers but without snow. Winter is over. After fifteen long years. The officers and servants stand wearing their very best behind Sansa and the children. Proud dire wolf banners fly in the wind hanging from the towers. The soldiers’s helmets and shields shine. Their chain mail looks new.

“Winterfell is yours Your Grace. Welcome.” She stretches her hand for him to kiss. She and the Queen exchange pleasantries. She looks different. The years had given her a more rounded figure but her skin is flawless as usual and her Tully eyes are still bright. “May I introduce Robert Stark, the Prince of Winterfell.” The child is tall and his voice cracks a little when he says: “honoured to meet you Your Grace. I always wanted to meet the pride of House Lannister, son of Tywin of Casterly Rock.”

He has to force himself to smile. Jamie, he thinks, Cersei. The children. Father. You’re not my son. That was the last thing he said to him. We carry the ghosts from out past forever, don’t we?. He looks to his right and sees two small boys standing next to each other. They’re both wearing beautifully embroidered coats and their boots look new. 

“These ones have the Stark look.” Sansa sighs and brings the boys in front of her, “these are my sons, Eddard and Benjen.” They bow graciously. The oldest one cannot be more than five. His eyes show intelligence already. Snow. He refused to believe the rumours but here they are. They could be from another man though, and Jon is nowhere to be seen anyway. Surely he wouldn’t dare leave Castle Black permanently?. After supper Sansa offers to show the Queen the Godswood and he lets them walk ahead of him. He’s not a young man anymore and his stunted legs make him walk slowly, he hears a movement in the shadows and lifts his lamp. The light outlines the shape of a man, short but lean and when he takes a step forward he sees a patch over his left eye. 

“Jon?.”

The man is holding a babe to his right shoulder. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” Silence. “Did you bring news from the far North, Jon?” “I know why you’re here Tyrion.” “It’s Your Grace Tyrion.”“It’s Lord Stark.” He smiles. Jon doesn’t. “I want you to know something. I’m not afraid of you, I’m not letting you hurt my family again. You had something to do with Brandon’s death, I can’t prove it but I know. I will do anything necessary to protect them, anything” “Yes. Even breaking your word?” “Grey Worm was not my King. Neither are you. I did it for Brandon and he’s gone.” “I’m King of the six kingdoms...” “Three at best,” the child whimpers. “I’m not your enemy Jon,” the sadness in his chest is heavy like a rock, “may I?” Jon bends a little and the baby moves. He sees her tiny hands and feet, grabs her little hood and pulls. A cascade of white curls falls between his ugly fingers. He feels a deep ache. Regret, “what is her name?”

After dinner they sit in Sansa’s office. He doesn’t care much for Dornish wine but this is fantastic, dry and fruity, Arya Stark commands a full fleet and trade is booming for the Baratheons, apparently Dorne doesn’t even charge them for using their ports to trade. He wonders what other secret deals has Sansa struck with Dorne or even Highgarden. “Samwell Tarly has gone back to his family home, his wife was tired of the capital,” he ventures. Sansa sips slowly, “it can be a lonely place for someone like her, I don’t imagine the ladies of King’s Landing would be very fond of a wildling girl.” “Hardly a girl, a mother of four.” Sansa says nothing. “Anyway, let’s go straight to the point, you and I agree that peace requires hard work, and our personal desires are not above our responsibilities as leaders.”

Sansa sighs, “say what you mean Tyrion, I can’t stay up very late.” He’s a bit startled by her northern manners. The she-wolf of Winterfell. Eddard and Catelyn would have been proud. “You understand the situation is delicate, rumours of your impending marriage to Aegon Targaryen have reached the south. I have come to ask your cooperation, one sovereign to another, to ensure Highgarden and Dorne remain in the fold. Surely we can find a solution together, the brightest minds in Westeros,” he’s grinning widely. Sansa’s hair is magnificent and shiny, half loose and half pinned up in a silver diadem shaped as a garland of winter roses. It looks expensive. “And would this bright mind care to explain why it must be me who cleans your mess? Your bright mind let Bronn tax them heavily and attempt to bring back the long forgotten lord’s right at wedding nights. The same mind that didn’t store water when the Citadel announced the coming drought, how is that my responsibility?”

“Sansa,” he straightens himself on the chair, “you must send him back. At least for a while until things are quieter. For his own good.” “Yes, is always Jon who must make the sacrifice, always me and him who must part ways, to appease Dorne, the Iron Islands, and everyone else, always me who must marry for peace, for the South, for the North.” Her eyes glow in the light of the candles. “I will not. He’s a Stark and if he wishes to stay this is his home. You have nothing to fear, I will not marry him. My youngest children are Snow, they have no rights to the throne in the North, no rights to the throne of their grandfather Rhaegar, there is no cause for war. The North is independent, we don’t take orders from southern kings” “You’re being unreasonable, would you send northernmen to die for just one man?” The air between them is still and wet like the Trident. “You mistake me. Touch Jon and not only my men will raise. Also Vale men. Dornish men. Men from Highgarden, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands. And wildlings.”


	11. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes a decision to stay. Really happy happy ending and a bit of smut. Warning: there’s mention of blood and some violence

Sansa

She’s been back in her chamber for half an hour when Jon appears. He takes off his boots. “Where were you?” “The crypts,” he stares at his bare feet, “should I start packing?” “I’m tired of having this conversation, I want you to stay. But not because of the children, not because I ask you to. But because is what you want. I don’t know what else I can say.” Jon raises his head and gives her a look she can’t decipher, “I’m not good with words” he sounds apologetic, “I want to stay, but I struggle, I don’t want to be guilty again, guilty of war” Sansa wants to hold him, to shake him back to sense, to tell him that Tyrion doesn’t have any resources for war, that he would never make it past the Neck, that he can never take a Winterfell that has food for two years. But she remains quiet. Giving him time. “I know what I am. What my father was. And his father. All of them.” Sansa hears her own heartbeat, “my children are not mad.” She observes his dark curls, the shape of his eyebrows, nose and mouth, how is it possible to love someone this much?. “Neither are you.” “Are you sure, Sansa? If I do this, if I stay, we will face consequences. Maybe war.” “I’m done with secrets. No more hiding. I won’t teach my children to fear. We will never bend again, to the south or anyone else.”

Jon looks at her intensely and then smiles, leans over and kisses her forehead, “I feel sorry for Tyrion”, “you need trimming, find Willy in the morning, we’re having dinner with our guests.” “My hair is fine” “Too long,” she gets up and opens her drawer. “Seven hells, Sansa I don’t need another doublet.” “It’s not a doublet,” she holds a long dark feather attached to a gold brooch. The brooch has two direwolves facing each other, their eyes are tiny rubies and they’re surrounded by delicate gold roses. Jon is so close to her their noses almost touch. “What is it?” “I don’t know. It was in your mother’s statue, I found it when I came here with Littlefin...it looked like it had been there for long.” “Maybe father put it there,” he says. “Maybe. Or someone that loved her.” She holds it to his chest and says, “would you like to wear it for dinner tomorrow?” He nods. He strikes her hair and kisses her.

The next morning she entertains Queen Darya. She must be in her late twenties she thinks. She has really nice brown hair and high cheekbones, and her eyes are two green emeralds. She looks a bit like Cersei, she thinks.“I have heard so much about the North, so many stories,” she says as she threads her needle. At the far end of the courtyard Robb is parrying with real steel now. Jon had the smith put on a wolf head in his sword like Longclaw’s except this is grey and not white. He’s never been prouder of anything. His siblings are running around, bashing each other with some cloth dragons. The toys have button eyes and if you squeeze them hard they roar. Arya thought it was hilarious when she saw them in a market in Meereen, she bought tons of them, and every child in the North now has one.

“Eddie! Don’t hit your brother in the head!.” Eddie is tall and tireless, with the long face of the Starks and his father’s sad eyes. Benny has the rounded Tully face and reddish curly hair, and the same eyes. Little Kathy stumbles and falls but gets up immediately and keeps going, trying to catch her brothers. Queen Darya looks at them and sighs almost imperceptibly. They’ve been married for what? Ten years?. They lost one baby, she heard from Gilly. Or two. Tyrion has officially given Casterly Rock to his cousin Gerard and his children. He must be sure now he won’t have his own. She tries to think of something nice to say.

“Do you enjoy King’s Landing Your Grace?”  
“Oh, Yes, very much! I specially like to look over the bay at night, you can see the stars, and ships,” she pauses, “you should come! You must visit me.”  
“I’ve already been to King’s Landing Your Grace.”  
“Have you really? When? Did you stay long?”

It can’t be, she thinks, she doesn’t now. Has it been that long? Almost twenty years. Have people forgotten already?. Everyone is dead, she says to herself. Her Septa. Margaery and Loras. Even the children. Myrcella was always kind to her. And Shae. Shae tried to help her. She wonders what happened to her. She hopes she made it out of there. And Jeyne. Poor Jeyne. All ghosts.

That night at dinner she watches Jon’s guarded face. Queen Darya is seated next to Prince Robb and across him. She tries very hard not to look at his patch. She volunteers nervously, “I hope the next time we come we have enough time to go all the way to the Wall. His Grace has been and he liked it. Didn’t you?” Tyrion smiles. He’s so drunk his tongue slurs, “yes, my dear wife, a very impressive massive chunk of ice,” he chuckles.  
“Life in the North is hard but the free folk are friendly,” she’s surprised Jon spoke at all.  
“Oh, I will be so afraid of them for sure!,” she says lightly.  
“They saved my life,” says Jon, “twice.”

Poor Queen Darya refuses to look up. She’s terrified of Jon. Jon. Of all people. If only she knew.

Jon.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. He had stopped dreaming of her years ago. Maybe is Tyrion’s presence that brings back ghosts from the past. Maybe he’s just worried about nothing. Nan Bea was handing Kathy over to him this morning when she suddenly said, “you must listen carefully my lord, and be brave like your lady mother.” She said nothing else. And now he’s dreaming of a bloody dagger in his hands. Again. Sansa gave the Queen’s chambers to the royal couple and they’re sleeping in Arya’s old chambers. They are smaller and it’s hot. He is sweating, staring at the ceiling and worrying. We have chosen to close our eyes. We were wrong. We refused to avenge Bran, we stayed in the North and hoped they will leave us alone. It’s never like that. And now?. Will there be war?. He listens. It’s just an open window, he tells himself. Another creak. He sits up. His heart pounds in his chest as he leaves the room. He stands before the closed door. I must be mad, he tells himself, I will wake them up. I must go. But he stays, bare feet nailed to the floor. 

He once dreamed he was inside Ghost, he moved faster than any other creature he knew. It all happens in a heartbeat. A rush, a thud. Queen Darya screams. Jon can’t see anything in the dark but the glint of the knife. He doesn’t remember wrestling with the man but when he wakes up his hands are bandaged and they feel stiff and swollen. He falls asleep again and when he opens his eyes Sansa is sitting at his left and Queen Darya at his right, “You saved my life Lord Stark, thank you.”

The next day Tyrion asks to talk privately. His voice is full of emotion as he says, “I know you don’t trust me. If it wasn’t for you the Queen would be death. She’s all I have. Let me pay you for your courage. It’s the least I can do.”  
“I don’t want a payment Tyrion. It was never my intention...”  
“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I’m the most hated man in Westeros, they should’ve come for me a long time ago, but they came for her. For her. She hasn’t harmed anyone in her life.”  
“I don’t need a pardon.”  
“You won’t get one. If I pardon you the kingdoms will raise for you or against you and if you refuse for your children. I can’t let this brittle peace break again.”  
“What then?”  
“I have decided you should serve the rest of your sentence as a prisoner of the Queen in the North. She’s accepted the burden of being your custodian and I trust you will endure such punishment,” he winks. A week later he stands next to Sansa and the children as they say goodbye to the Royal party. Queen Darya has sewn a beautiful doublet with a red dragon and a white wolf surrounding a lion. “Protecting it,” she says with a smile and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

That night he touches Sansa the way she likes it between her legs and kisses her breasts. She stays silent for a while, breathing in his neck. Then she kisses his eye long gone. “You seem to like it,” he says. “I do. It’s a blessed arrow. It brought you back to me.” He drinks into her face for a moment and feels like he’s dreaming, “I would have lost both eyes gladly to get back to you. I have an idea, something we could do that doesn’t require our eyes” “oh, what is it?” He licks her earlobe gently like a pup and Sansa puts her hand under his tunic, touches the soft wet skin and... “Mum?” Eddie is holding Benny’s hand and he’s holding Kathy’s. Their girl rubs her eyes and yawns. “What is it my sweet boy?” Jon turns around and holds out his arms to Eddie. “Benny can’t sleep. He wanted to come.” Benny just stares at them. “And Kathy?” “She also wanted to come.”Jon smiles and says, “how do you know?, she doesn’t speak.” “She does,” like on cue she utters, “fly, Daddy.” 

Jon picks them one by one and settles them on the bed between him and Sansa, “all right but be quiet, Mummy needs to sleep” There’s quietness for a moment and then the door opens, “why is everyone here?” Robb says with a grown up voice, “is Kathy dreaming again?” “What dreams?” Sansa asks, and Robb is already lifting the blankets and laying at the foot of the bed. Soon they’re all sound asleep. Jon extends his hand and touches hers. “I guess that ruins our plans,” she says. He looks at the children, a tangle of red, black and silver, limbs and toes. “I like this plan, too.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m considering an epilogue twenty years later. Let me know in the comments if you would like that!


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is set about twenty years later than the last chapter. It’s bittersweet. Warning: MAJOR Stark death. But also happy times ahead, I promise.

Sansa. 

“Like this, Mom?”

Kathy shows her her work. She sees the crooked stitches just like Arya’s. “Why don’t you try again my love?,” she tells her gently, “your aunt Arya will arrive today I reckon.” Kathy nods. She is better at archery and horse than at sewing but she’s a beauty. She’s twenty one, short and slender like her father. Lord Arryn has asked for her hand for his son, and all the boys in the North are in love with her but she has eyes only for Brandon Baratheon, her cousin. He looks like a bull, muscular and tall, but is fond of stories of knights that he whispers to her when they walk hand in hand. Everyone expects him to ask any minute now. She observes her daughter’s silver hair. Kathy cuts it short and hides it under hats. Her huge eyes give glimpses of purple under the sun. But they’re sad. All his children mourned him greatly but she was too close to her father and it hit her the hardest. Two years. Everyone had been here for Benny’s wedding. Samwell and Gilly with the children, Lord Arryn and his son, Princess Alix of Dorne, Robb and his family, all the northern lords, and even the wildlings sent a delegation. Two men and two women with a sledge full of furs and seal fat for the newlyweds. 

Benny’s wife Maggie was born in Bear Island. She’s not a lady, just a carpenter’s daughter but she’s kind and brave like all the islanders. Jon took to her immediately and she called him “father” from the start. Since Robb married in Deepwood Motte to Lady Lyarra and Eddie doesn’t seem interested in girls, this was the first wedding in Winterfell since she married Robb’s father thirty five years ago. There was Arya’s but that was a small and rushed one since she was already pregnant. For this they had months to prepare.

“Let’s open the castle Sansa, for all,” Jon said with a huge smile.

The weather had been so good they hung lamps outside in the courtyard and set trestle tables out there for the town’s people. Three hundred pigs, goats and fatten pigeons were barely enough for the crowds. Rumour had it peasants have walked there from Moat Cailin out of curiosity and love for their Queen and Lord Stark. The Great Hall was packed and hot from so many people eating, laughing and dancing. Arya had fallen off a horse and was nursing the leg so the Lords of the Stormlands sent their son instead. Shireen was at sea with her mother’s fleet. Brandon and Kathy disappeared from the feast at some point like other youths. Probably to kiss behind the stables. Sansa wasn’t even mad.

She turned her gaze around the room and saw Jon and Sam laughing so hard that they had tears in their eyes. In the room full of people Jon looked at her and smiled. He had grey hair and beard now and wrinkles around his eyes but in her heart he was the handsomest man in all the North. He was wearing the doublet she made him for his fifty eight name day. It had a dire wolf in the front and a dragon in the back. His boots were new, beautiful grey sable. He looked like a prince.

“Is Your Grace pleased?,” he asked playfully.  
“Yes, very much Lord Stark.”

They danced until morning came. She had never seen Jon dance and drink that much. They went back to their chambers too excited to sleep. They stayed in bed until noon, naked under the sheets. When they got up Jon complained of some stomach pain. She said jokingly: “you should have eaten less venison. And drunk less. You’re not a young man anymore.” “My age didn’t seem to bother you this morning, did it?” “I have no complaints,” she said. A few years ago she had noticed her moon blood gone. When she told him he wasn’t repulsed as she expected, on the contrary, it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Some mornings she even had a hard time sitting because he left her so rough. Maybe he was more desirous because he couldn’t get her pregnant anymore.

Two days after the wedding Jon sat up in bed and winced. “Pain again?” “I cannot breath”. He was pale. Yet, when Maggie called on their door, “father, Your Grace, we want to go walk in the Godswood, do you want to come?”Jon put on his boots. “We’ll stay. You’re not well.” “Nonsense. I’m fine. It’s just old age.” Robb’s wife, Lady Lyarra, was heavily pregnant with their second child. The first, a girl named Alys was running around. Sansa grabbed Lyarra’s arm and they went first. Then Benny and Gilly, Sam, Robb and Eddie and the Tarly children, all five of them. Brandon walked with Kathy and Jon was last. Maggie grabbed his arm and said: “tell me again the story of how you found the direwolves, father.”

To this day she remembers very clearly what everyone was wearing and their voices. Jon’s voice grew smaller as the sounds of the stream grew closer. Lyarra was saying: “Your Grace, how much longer do you think summer will last?” Then she heard Maggie scream. “Father? father? what’s wrong? help!, help!.” Kathy and Benny were on their knees by his side, Eddie had rested his head on a patch of grass. The Weirdwood leaves were covering the floor. He never got up. His eye was opened but he couldn’t talk. He seemed to be in pain. She heard more screams and at some point the Maester came. She held Jon in her arms and whispered to his ear. She talked about the children, she told him she was happy and safe, she said thank you and sang to him until he stopped breathing. Kathy was wailing and everyone had tears in their eyes. Sam kneeled beside Sansa and closed Jon’s eye.

They had to build an elevated platform because of the crowds. They dressed him in his wolf and dragon coat and new boots. They put Longclaw in his hands. She and Maggie took the seal fat and left his hair and beard shiny and beautiful. The castle gates remained opened for a week and people were still coming to see him from all the holdfasts in the North. Town’s people walked in and out the courtyard watching him. Most were quiet but some women and children cried. All the guests to the wedding were still at Winterfell so there was no need to send ravens. The wildlings went back up north with the sad news. She and the children took turns standing there with the crowds and thanked them personally. All but Kathy. The child didn’t leave her room until a week later, when they took Jon into the crypts. Sansa kept Longclaw in his clothes chest, with the rest of his clothes neatly folded, his wildling fur on top of all.

Exactly nine moons later Maggie and Benny had a baby boy. He was born with his eyes fully opened. Dark grey eyes and lots of curly hair. He’s already walking and talking but his parents decided to move to Wintertown a few weeks ago. Benny learned carpentry and his half brother Lord Stark, Prince of Winterfell, gave him a house with some land, a horse and a cart. Sansa gave him a naturalisation letter on his wedding day but Benny just shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m a Stark no matter what my name is. I have everything I need mother,” he says when they visit. “When winter comes at least bring your family here.” “I can feed them and protect them just fine.” Benny’s hair is reddish but he enjoys living among the common people like Jon. He’s happier this way, she thinks, no sword, no need to kill. To the town’s people he’s just Benny Snow, the Queen’s bastard. “Bring Maggie and the baby tomorrow,” Sansa told him. “All right mother,” he said with his father’s crooked smile. She has three grandchildren from Robb but they named this one Jon and she has a special place in her heart for her little Jonny Snow. 

Arya shows up in their solar, silent like a cat as usual. She hugs Kathy and then her. She took her bloody sweet time. Two years. “Eddie is gone to the North.” “Jon took him beyond the Wall a couple of times, didn’t he?”, Arya puts her feet on top of the table and Sansa sighs at her manners. “Tormund died and they wanted King Crow’s son to mediate until they can choose their new leader. He likes it there.” “I heard he’s promised to the Dornish Princess?” “He refused. I..., I don’t think Eddie likes women to be honest.” She found him once behind the stables with the Maester at Arms’ blond son. “Robb?” “Visiting the Glovers. They wanted to see the girls.” “What did they name the baby?” “Lyanna.” They’re quiet for a moment. “I wished you had been here.” “I don’t. I can pretend it didn’t happen and he’s coming back from the Wall any minute.” Sadness passes between them for a moment. Then Arya chuckles. “Can you believe Jon? He survived stabbing and freezing and countless battles, and he died from too much drinking and dancing!” And fucking, Sansa thinks, and keeps it to herself. “How’s Gendry? And Shireen?” “He’s well. Shireen?. No idea. Still sailing I guess.” “Your leg?” “Still hurts. I’m not so young anymore.” Her little sister has grey hair already, and the realisation makes Sansa smile. Right then Benny and his little family walk through the door. Hugs and kisses, and then Jonny scrutinises Arya’s face with his big dark eyes. “This is your aunt Arya, Jonny.”

Kathy says, “I found winter roses in the Godswood this morning, do you want to come with me? I’ll leave them in the crypts.” As their little party leaves the crypts, Jonny walking between his aunt Arya and his grandma the Queen, a light snow begins. Sansa lifts her face to it and they feel like gentle lover’s kisses. 

Winter is here.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought Jon will never go back willingly, so something had to force him. Also, I like Tormund. Every chapter has one or more POVs. My plan is nine chapters or maybe ten. I hope you like it!


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